


Arrival

by FidgetyWriter



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Fertility Issues, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 20:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6722224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FidgetyWriter/pseuds/FidgetyWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven years after the Blight, Fergus Cousland's third child is born. The palace in Denerim is still without an heir, and for the first time Cecily Cousland feels an absence in the quiet halls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arrival

The brisk sea breeze pulling at the shutters (and her hair) on the balcony was a welcome respite from the stuffiness and loudness of the room it opened onto. Cecily waited for the ceremonious crash that was sure to follow, and soon enough it sounded on the lowest level of Castle Cousland. A small human boy, chosen specifically for this honor, spilled out of the wooden doors and into the front courtyard. The oak Fergus had used to replace those doors after Arl Howe’s man had smashed through them seven years ago was a different shade than it had been in her childhood. Cecily much preferred the original.

She watched the boy sprint across the courtyard, official proclamation clutched tightly in his tiny hands, as his feet pounded over brick and cobbles. He shooed off several nearby servants who swarmed him, shouting for information, but he shook his head resolutely and ran on. The crowd followed.

Cecily had penned the proclamation in his hands because it was agreed upon that her penmanship was the best of anyone involved in the immediate affair. Upon handing it to the dutifully stationed footman just outside the bedroom, she’d wandered onto the balcony to distance herself from the occupants within.

An audible cheer went up only a few moments later from the general area where her note was posted, and though she could not see the revelers, she could feel their excitement. She closed her eyes and tried to soak up the sound; to absorb some of the celebration into her own body. It was to no effect. The only lingering taste in her mouth was of bitterness.

The proclamation read:

_Her Ladyship, the Teryna of Highever, was safely delivered of a daughter on this day August 8 9:37 Dragon at one o’clock in the afternoon. The babe and Her Ladyship are both in excellent health._

“Finally a girl!” Fergus had shouted in joy upon being told the news, nearly startling the toddler in his arms. “See, Finlay, you’ve a little sister now. And little sisters can be quite the handful.”

He’d directed an affectionate gaze at Cecily at this jab at younger sisters before extending his free arm out to her.

“Come! No hug for the newest addition to our family?”

Cecily went forward, practiced smile plastered on her face, and allowed her brother to embrace her. Her nephew, Finlay, patted her arm affectionately and said “Auntie”.

 

________________________________________________________

When Fergus had remarried with haste three years earlier, Cecily suspected her new sister-in-law was already with child. Finlay’s arrival six months later had confirmed these suspicions. She’d been so happy to have another nephew to dote on, even as Oren’s murder still stung, and Jilly was far kinder and more like a sister than Oriana had ever been.

But when Finlay was born, the gaping hole in her heart had not yet appeared. She was content to simply be at Ferelden’s court with all the business that demanded. She had used her alliance with Bhelen Aeducan, born during the Blight, to improve relations between human and dwarven traders. Celene hosted Cecily and Alistair at court in Orlais, a first for the two nations in several decades. The empress had declared Ferelden’s new queen to be “a delightful little peach” which, after some clarification, Cecily realized was high praise.

The rumors bothered her, even then, but she’d shaken them off. If anyone who spent time around king and queen deluded themselves into believing the lack of an heir was because Cecily and Alistair didn’t love one another, rather than the fact they were both Grey Wardens, they were simply touched in the head.

It didn’t often bother her now, actually. She saw Finlay two or three times a year and watching Alistair play hide-and-seek with their nephew was so sweet she had little time to dwell on anything else. The rest of her time was well occupied in quelling increasing tensions between templars and mages, keeping in touch with her companions during the Blight who had scattered to all corners of Thedas, and continually currying favor with the arls.

Jilly’s second pregnancy had been far enough away, as Denerim and Highever were ten day's ride apart in the best of weather, so as not to be in her thoughts very often. But no good sister-in-law could ignore the letter that arrived in Denerim in early Solace, though, with such kind, pleading phrases as “it would mean all the world to me if you would pass the remaining time with me” and “Finlay and Fergus ask after you daily”.

So Cecily left Denerim and upon arriving in Highever by mid-Solace was thrust into a world of such domesticity she felt just as out of place as she had in Orlais. Where Oriana had been aloof, Jilly was immediately attached to Cecily’s side. Oren had been fed, bathed, and mostly cared for by wet nurses and nannies. Finlay went everywhere with his mother, and both parents tucked him into bed each night just as Bryce Cousland had done for his children so long ago.

The remainder of Jilly’s pregnancy passed in four long weeks of tea on the balcony and naps with the windows open to the sea air. When Cecily was a child she’d delighted in how Highever remained the same throughout everything. Now, the silence and monotony drove her mad. She had too much time to think about certain aspects of life denied to her by being a Grey Warden.

King Alistair made an appearance in Denerim only a few days before Jilly’s labor began. The Couslands did not know this visit was a result of a letter sent in the dead of night begging him for some “company that can talk of anything other than baby shoes”. His arrival sent the castle into a frenzy, despite his insistences that it not be treated as anything important (as if his protests against opulence ever worked).

Labor began in the middle of the night, and Jilly demanded it be a woman-only event. Fergus had learned with the birth of Finlay that it was no use arguing he should be allowed by his wife’s side and insisted upon starting an impromptu archery tournament in the courtyard to distract himself beginning as soon as the sun was up. Alistair was conscripted as a judge.

“It’s not so bad,” he reassured Cecily as she threw a robe on over his nightclothes and argued he shouldn’t be forced into anything he didn’t want to do. “This conscription doesn’t involve drinking Darkspawn blood!”

The midwife told Jilly labor would progress faster if she kept moving as long as possible, and Cecily could not refuse when Jilly asked her to accompany her on the walks.She hovered awkwardly whenever her sister-in-law had to pause and ride out another contraction with whimpers and slamming her fist on the walls.

By midday Jilly could no longer stand (Cecily happily backed away at this point and allowed the midwife to do her job), and within an hour the baby finally arrived. She had a tuft of brown hair and lungs well-formed enough to enable her to emit quite a screech. Her parents technically would not name her for another day, as per custom, but Jilly confessed to her attendants and squalling infant she would be called Mairead.

 

_____________________________________________

Mairead’s arrival earlier in the day allowed enough time for Fergus to call for a feast in honor of her birth that evening. As the weather remained fine, tents were erected in the courtyard to accommodate a large number of diners. Jilly’s mother arrived near dusk and proved enough of a distraction for Cecily to make an escape.

In the sanctuary of her childhood bedroom, she shed her soiled robe and the invisible mask she’d worn throughout Jilly’s labor and delivery. 

Tears flooded forward, hot and bitter, spilling onto her nose, her cheeks, and her hands that futilely tried to stem the flow. She muffled the ensuing sobs into a pillow so as not to alarm any passing servants or family. Her knees buckled under her, and she sat next to the bed, unphased by the uncomfortable floor beneath her legs.

In the last few years the idea of motherhood went from notion not often considered to something desperately wished for. She knew going into her marriage it was all but impossible to conceive a child with both parents affected by the Blight, and for a while it had not mattered (despite the gossip it fostered).

But she’d lost her family and then saved the world against high odds, she was the damn Hero of Ferelden. She did not ask for a slew of children: only one; just one healthy baby that was born of her and the man she loved and adored more with each passing day. Why could the Maker not make this single exception?

Alistair, as was his custom, returned to their room at the absolute worst time. The tears had not stopped, she’d made no effort to get up off the floor or dress herself. 

“And today I learned a newfound respect for Leliana’s mastery of the bow because I am terrible--Ceci?”

He was by her side in under a second, scooping her up into a hug that pulled her to her feet. She clung to his arms for support and tried to form the words “I’m all right” but they stuck in her throat.

“What’s happened?” Alistair insisted. “They told us the babe was in excellent health!”

“She is,” Cecily sobbed. “She’s perfect.”

“Then what’s--?”

“Oh, Maker, I want one.” 

This response only elicited silence, and she wasn’t sure if that silence made her feel better or worse. It was better, at least, than what would predictably follow. Cecily tried to enjoy the quiet and the warmth of Alistair’s embrace before he said his awful joke again.

“Well,” he began. “There’s no harm in trying once ag--”

“Don’t,” she snapped. “Don’t say it. It used to make me feel better, but now it only makes this worse.”

He recoiled as if she’d physically struck him. She pulled a blanket off the bed to compensate for the warmth he took away as he strode to one of the large windows, facing away from her.

“I’m sorry--” she started, but he cut her off.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I don’t know either.”

“You know, Ceci...you know I’m no good at these things.”

“I didn’t--”

“But I hate it when you make this all about you. As if, I’m never affected by our inability to--”

She tried desperately to swallow her retort that sprang up the second he finished accusing her of making it solely about herself. It rose up like bile, and when she interrupted him, she flung the blanket around her shoulders to the floor and practically spat:

“All about me? Who blames this on you? Ever? They don’t discredit you, Alistair, they look at me and scoff and whisper ‘oh poor thing she’s barren’ when our inability to have a child is just as much your fault--”

“My fault?”

“You know the entire country views it as a fault!”

“I don’t care how they view it, just how you do,” he whispered.

The quiet tone of his voice made her feel as though her heart broke into several pieces. Of course, rationally, she’d didn’t blame him. They were both Grey Wardens, and even if their inability to conceive came from more natural causes, she wouldn’t want to be with anyone else. Not now, not ever.

She opened her mouth to rush an explanation, but it came out a jumble of words. Alistair shook his head. 

“Maybe you should be with your brother right now,” he said, the edge returning to his voice.

Her chest tightened and her eyes narrowed at the way he chose to phrase this suggestion. 

“Are you dismissing me?”

He turned back to the window and said nothing more. She made sure to exaggerate her scoff of disbelief and disapproval so he heard it. When even this failed to elicit any response, she wordlessly threw on a new robe and stomped toward the door. 

“I’ll see you at dinner,” she snarled.

She slammed the door behind her so hard that the nearby corridor lanterns shook.

 

_________________________________________________

With her mask of joy correctly plastered back onto her face, Cecily dove headfirst into assisting with the evening’s preparations. Fergus insisted she had done more than her fair share by simply being with Jilly throughout it all, but he fell silent in acquiescence when his little sister insisted even harder that she would be helping. She met his eyebrow raise of concern by turning away to help direct some young men in setting up braziers to line the tents.

When the braziers were just right, Cecily scurried right over to the small group hanging white ribbons (white signifying the birth of a girl). It was still strange to turn a corner in Castle Cousland and find only unfamiliar faces, but the faces she’d known had died with her parents. Of course, these strangers followed her every direction in ribbon hanging, and often praised “Her Majesty’s keen eye”, but their loyalty to her came from duty, not from watching her grow up amongst them.

Still, despite how different it felt, it was a fine place for Finlay and Mairead to grow up. The corridors were the same Fergus chased her down two decades ago. She tried to entertain the notion of a third joining in their play, not a sibling but a cousin: a tiny blonde one teetering after brother and sister (her imaginary child was always a blonde just like their father). The idea stung. She felt the need to duck into a corner and have another cry, but nothing came. Her eyes only stung with fatigue.

As soon as the sun set, the braziers were lit, and the courtyard of Castle Cousland transformed from a bustle of servants and soldiers on the move into a full blown party. The new cook wasn’t as good as Nan, but her roast lamb was still impressive. 

Jilly, ever the traditionalist, put Cecily and Alistair at the front end of the table, despite the event being thrown entirely in her and Mairead’s honor. Cecily tried to whisper a few words in his direction, but he almost instantly detached himself from the head of the table, still uncomfortable in the center of things after all this time. 

Her own breakaway proved far more difficult. Jilly, springing back from a ten hour labor as if it were nothing, sat at the same table and insisted on the company of her “faithful companion during it all”. When one of her many admirers commented on the incredible speed of her recovery, she remarked she was “still quite tired and a bit weak”. 

“Of course,” Jilly continued, laying a hand on Cecily’s arm. “I suspect my recovery will pale in comparison to my darling sister when her own time comes someday. I think fighting Darkspawn and then immediately leading a war-torn country must be much more exhausting than what I’ve done today.”

A tinkle of laughter spread out to the circle around them. She knew Jilly had meant her remark in nothing but kindness, but the words hit her directly in the face like a blade sliced over her skin.

She extracted herself from Jilly’s side after commenting on how she’d not slept since Mairead began to make her way into the world. After replying of course she’d go to bed immediately at the new mother’s frantic insistence, she kissed her brother good night and then fled.

Cecily found Alistair up near the entrance to the wing that once housed her parents (and now belonged to Fergus and Jilly). He was studying one of the old paintings she’d always liked. It depicted an old farmhouse with a swarm of animals all over: sheeps, cows, mabari hounds. She now knew the reality of rural life in Ferelden was much different than this idyllic image, but it always comforted her as a child when she’d asked her father where children who weren’t nobility lived.

She joined him and watched for a moment as his mouth formed silent words. Curiosity, as usual, got the better of her, and she abandoned her intent to stand wordless vigil until her spoke first.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m counting how many mabari are in this painting.”

“It’s fourteen.”

His concentration broke, and he smiled a little. 

“Of course. I should have known you’d know long before me.”

“I had a few years head start.”

“How about sheep?”

“Forty-three.”

He chuckled. She took his lighter mood as a good sign and reached down to take his hand. Almost instinctively, his fingers curled around her own. 

“I’m sorry,” she told him. 

“I am too,” he replied. “I should never have spoken to you in that way.”

“It’s hard,” she said. “I’ve been surrounded by motherhood for the past four weeks--”

“That’s enough to drive anyone mad.”

It was her turn to smile. The brief silence between them was filled with warmth.

“It would just be lovely to have one of our own,” she continued. “Just one.”

“It would,” he agreed. “But you saw how the lack of an heir drove a wedge between Cailan and Anora. I don’t want that to happen to us. Even if it’s always only you and I, I’m happy to be with you.”

He kissed her. She pulled him back into the kiss until her shoulder hit the painting. The resulting clatter startled them both.

“Can I make my terrible joke again or is it too soon?” he asked.

“Oh, but I’m so tired,” she whined, though the smile creeping onto her lips gave her away. “I’ve been up since the middle of last night to help Jilly.”

“Well, if you’re so tired, I won’t be the one to keep you from your rest.”

“But,” she mumbled against his ear, pulling him toward the bedroom door. “I don’t think another try would be so terrible.”


End file.
